The Path to the Tower
by Tim Fortune
Summary: A collection of poems that tell the tale of the Last Gunslinger in a sort of opearatic form. Idea gained from Demons and Wizards Touched by the Crimson King. Enjoy.
1. The Man in Black

**The Man in Black**

Across the desert, he fled

Trying hard to soothe his troubled head.

He paused only briefly, as he saw what was behind him.

A hardened man with hard steel

Chasing, chasing, after him.

While the man in black holds some secrets,

Not all them he has.

That's reserved for Los the Red, King of all He sees.

Gilead has fallen, The Man knows that.

But still behind him, he's followed.

He pauses only briefly. He doesn't know why.

A part of him wants to be caught.

One final joke for the cosmic jokester,

But still he runs.

For the desert is vast, and the mountains are ahead.

Slow Mutants lie beneath them.

"Good" he says, his smile large across his face

"They'll take care of him."

Night has fallen, cold has set in

He makes his fire and sees its twin

His pursuer has stopped too.

For are they not men?

For don't men need to rest?

And rest he does, for tomorrow, it begins anew.

For the Man in Black will flee across the desert.

And the Gunslinger will follow.


	2. Ka

**Ka**

He's close.

I can feel it.

It's in the air.

It's in the dirt.

It's all around us.

Ka has willed it, as it must.

Ka is unbreakable.

Ka is unbendable.

No man can escape Ka.

They say the Tower stands outside Ka.

I'll know when I see it.

Oh Gods, how I want to see it.

He's close.

Walter.

The Man in Black.

I must catch him.

He knows the secrets of the Tower.

I know it.

He's stopped.

Good.

I'll press on a little further,

But then I must rest.

We're but men.

At least I am.

Him, I don't know.

But all things serve Ka,

Even he,

The demon,

The deceiver.

I'll find him.

Or he'll find me.

For isn't, as they say,

Ka a wheel?


	3. Tull

**Tull**

A desolate place.

The people stagger around their lives,

Their pointless, meaningless lives.

The world has moved on,

Aye, that's what they say.

Before the Mohaine Desert,

Lays the village of Tull.

Not much.

Not much at all.

But what could be great?

Gilead, aye.

But Gilead's gone.

Lud is overrun.

And Mejis,

Forget it.

But one man in town remembers Mejis.

Aye, he was there.

He was there at the Reaping Fair,

Proudly shouting "Charyou Tree!"

As the lovely girl rode by.

He does in Tull, as he did in Mejis.

He bangs warbled versions of "Hey Jude" and others,

While the drunks sing them off-key.

Sheb's his name.

We should know.

For Ka has a bit of lead with that name inscribed for him.

There are others around this desolate berg.

Behind the bar is Allie.

Was probably something special at the start,

But now…

Keep the lights out, there's no difference.

Over yonder's the God-Lady,

Pittson's her name, The Man-Jesus' her game.

There are others in this town, but one last player is important.

Ol' Nort the Weed-Eater.

Poor soul.

Wanders aimlessly around the town.

He ain't roont, but he's almost.

If he keeps chewing that damn devil-grass.

It killed him once.

It could kill him again.

But Ka is not that kind.

As for the rest,

Well, Ka has lead for all of them.

And Ka's instrument is coming in.


	4. The Funeral of Ol' Nort

**The Funeral of Ol' Nort**

In a town named Tull,

There lived a man.

A simple man, but a man nonetheless.

There wasn't much known about him.

The town knew one thing:

Ol' Nort loved the devil grass.

Like a cow he'd stand there chewing and chewing and chewing.

Never ceasing, never stopping.

Chewing, chewing, chewing.

You'd think his jaw would stop 'cuz of all that chewing,

But, nope.

His heart did first.

A funeral was held for poor Ol' Nort.

A simple affair for a simple man.

Wasn't much to pray for.

He died like he lived,

Chewing that damned weed.

At the time of his funeral, a stranger came to town.

Real strange and on his own.

He dressed in black with a hood over his pale face,

Always smiling, never ceasing, never stopping.

Just standing there like some cosmic clown.

He saw Ol' Nort and summoned magicks from beyond.

He foamed and writhed and wiggled.

The spit flew,

His hands were raised.

Then suddenly,

Ol' Nort sat up.

He climbed out his casket and into the streets to find more weed.

The barkeep Allie witnessed it.

The stranger, still a smiling', gave her a note.

A note of significance.

He walked away, a whistlin' a tune,

Leaving her with the note.

Barely able to help it,

She opened it.

The man was jovial enough it seems.

Nort knew the secrets of the afterlife, and he could reveal all.

But only if a number was spoken.

A certain number.

The power number, which controls the beams:

The number NINETEEN.


End file.
